Touch
by Lyaksandra
Summary: Cameron is trying to drive John insane. Or perhaps not, but with her way of doing things, sometimes it's hard to tell.
1. Chapter 1

**TOUCH**

John Connor wakes up in the middle of the night, and his throat feels the way he imagines it must after eating sand. Coarse and dry barely begins to describe it. It's difficult to swallow, and each try comes along with a burning sensation that's a lot like being choked. Unfortunately, he does know how that feels.

After a minute of rallying his willpower to get out of bed and go down to the kitchen for the glass of water he needs so much, John finally rolls to one side and sits on the edge of the mattress. When he feels a small chill on the back of his head and along his back, he can't help but huff angrily and roll his eyes. Surely enough, when he feels around the bed with one hand, he finds it quite damp with his own sweat. That's going to make laying back on it quite uncomfortable. Maybe wearing a tee shirt along with his usual pair of shorts when going to bed could help with that, and then again getting encased in anything will probably cause him to boil alive.

The summers in California are supposed to be hot, that much he understands, but it still feels as if this year the weather is purposefully being obnoxious. As he walks along the hallway, John notices that the door to Cameron's room is open. Curiosity gets the best of him and he leans on the threshold to take a peek inside. The room is empty, and for all intents and purposes it looks as if the Terminator has never set foot inside. Right in front of him is the bed, perfectly made, not a single wrinkle on its surface. Every item is in a place that seems proper for it, and every piece of furniture looks like it's perfectly aligned to the room's walls. It's all too neat, Spartan, efficient. It's all just so… mechanical. Then again, what did he expect? A girl's room? John razzes at the absurdity of that thought and resumes walking toward the stairs.

While in the kitchen, John gulps down a couple glasses of water and seizes the opportunity to grab a quick snack. His mother usually tries to stock up on ham and hotdogs, so he just opens the fridge and goes straight for the cold cuts drawer. Without any regard for etiquette, he just stacks a bit of each on top of his hand. The stuff is cold, but he doesn't mind it enough to waste time heating it at this hour of the night. He turns around with his bounty in hand and slams the door shut with his foot as he walks away, ready to go back to his room. He doesn't go past the kitchen's window, though. As he walks by it, he notices something moving in the shadows near the far wall of the backyard. Coming into the kitchen the angle didn't let him see toward that side of the house, but now that he's going the opposite way, it's pretty obvious that something—or rather someone—is out there. The outline of the shadow looks vaguely human and it's definitely too big to be any kind of wild animal that would venture into the suburbs.

Without a second thought, John tosses the food on the kitchen countertop and begins carefully tiptoeing toward the double-glass door that gives way into the backyard. Trying to avoid making any noise, he slowly, almost delicately leans against the wall just beside the door. As he waits there for a moment, he realizes that he has reacted without hesitation, or much thought for that matter. Just the way that was drilled into his mind through years of training. Now that he's here, flat against the wall and with the risk of encountering some very real danger quite soon, John begins thinking he should've gone to his mother first. Even though he knows this is no Terminator lurking around in the bushes—because they just don't do that—the fear that's pooling in his stomach is growing into something very real and quite overwhelming.

A shuffling noise coming from the general direction where he saw the intruder shifts John abruptly back into soldier mode. Taking a deep breath, he slides as silently as possible along the wall and bends sideways to take a peek outside. His eyes hastily scour the backyard but it's too dark to see anything concrete, though he can make out the layout of the terrain by memory. The intruder, however, is completely obscured by the fence's shadow. The moon is hanging low on the horizon, hitting the fence at just the right angle so its shadow stretches a long way into the backyard. John curses inwardly as he forces his eyes into trying to pierce the darkness to no avail.

Suddenly, two tiny and symmetric twinkles pierce the darkness for just an instant. Eyes, John immediately concludes, and he reflexively straightens back against the wall. His breathing is rapidly becoming fast and shallow, and he can feel his heart pounding hard inside his chest. The adrenaline is making his limbs tremble a little bit from time to time, but he's trying to bravely push through the gut-reaction of running away, just as he was trained. At least when it's not about Terminators. In those cases it's all about running away.

Steadying his breaths as much as he can, John slides slowly toward the glass pane once more. A shape he knows all too well gradually emerges from the shadows. It's Cameron. However, even though he no longer has anything to fear, the adrenaline doesn't stop coursing through his body, the tension in his limbs and the increased awareness not letting up one bit. This situation is just too weird. Why the hell is Cameron skulking around in the darkness? Why is she prowling in the backyard like a burglar? It's very obvious that the Terminator is hiding, and the problem is that she's hiding from them. Are they not supposed to trust each other? Yet, here she is, making it very hard for John to do that.

Ever since the whole deal with her damaged chip, the feeling of mistrust lingered in the air like a bad smell. John has managed to handle things even though his mom and Derek are continually making it very clear that they think he fucked up, and right now he's feeling very inclined to believe them. To top it all off, he has been feeling like crap almost every day since then. He just can't forget the hurt in his mother's eyes when he pulled the pistol on her and Derek to stop them from burning Cameron.

John is at odds with his own family and being haunted by thoughts he thought would never ever cross his mind, and all for what? There is no gratitude forthcoming from Cameron, that's for damn sure. In fact, she made it very clear from the very beginning that she also thought he fucked up. Did he? Is she dangerous? The fear returns with a vengeance and pools in the pit that has just opened in the bottom of his stomach when John realizes just how close the Terminator is, whereas the pocket watch she gave him is in fact all the way up in the second story of the house, safely tucked away inside the bottom drawer of the bedside table in his room. He's royally screwed if Cameron has lost it again.

Luckily, it seems like things aren't going down such a grim path. For now. The situation, however, does get weirder. John watches as the cyborg walks toward the swings and then takes a seat on the one closest to the house, which is then followed by absolutely nothing else. She just sits there as she would anywhere else—back ramrod straight, hands resting on her thighs, the thousand yard stare in her eyes—and then she stays like that for what seems to John like the longest time ever. At least in the meantime he does manage to relax a little.

While waiting for something to happen, he analyzes Cameron in hopes to find something that tells him more about what's going on. Maybe he's missing something. A subtle clue he didn't notice before because he was all skittish. Yeah, that must be it, because killer robots from the future don't just sit on swings and stare at the horizon in the dead of night. They don't do the whole '_for no reason at all'_ deal.

The first thing John notices almost makes him slap his own forehead. For some reason, he always assumed that Cameron was very heavy. However, the swing is taking her weight without any obvious signs of strain on the chains. It makes his mind reel. Aside from that, nothing looks out of place. She's wearing the same black leather combat boots she always wears, even though it's summer and they look like they must be hot as hell. Why does she wear them all the time? It's not like she can like or enjoy stuff, and don't machines go about things with practicality in mind? Going through the heat of summer with those boots is going to make her stand out like a sore thumb, and John knows she's all against that. Not to mention his mom. Then it hits him. For the first time since she joined his family, John realizes that he has never bothered to check if she owns any other shoes. He does remember scolding her for stealing things, though.

John forces the guilt to the back of his mind. Why is he feeling bad for her, anyway? It's not like Cameron can feel anything about not being taken into consideration by him or his family. Still, since being inconspicuous is vital to the Connors, tomorrow he's going to ask her if she owns any other shoes, and if not, they're making a shopping trip down to the mall. For subtlety's sake. That's the only reason why he's doing it. He repeats this reasoning in his mind until it sounds just true enough.

His eyes continue to rake over the cyborg's form, and John notices that he has almost never seen Cameron wearing anything besides denim jeans. Also, for some reason they're always quite the tight fit. Now, it's not like he likes her, but she does have pretty nice legs. Maybe a bit on the thin side, but rather shapely. If it weren't for the fact that machines can't have vanity or interest in showing off, he would think she wears the tight jeans on purpose. As for not having something else to wear, John has seen her laundry basket and she owns several pairs. In different colors, even. Since he can't very well just ask her about it, he resolves to further investigate in the near future.

Finally, John arrives at the only sensible area of Cameron's wardrobe. Her shirt. Tonight she's wearing a simple sleeveless top that kind of looks like one of his undershirts. With the scarce lighting, he can't really tell what color it is, but it's something dark. She does own a ton of these garments. They're the only things in her closet that don't raise any question's in his mind. Except that tonight something is off. John squints and tries to make out the details of her figure. There's something about her well-formed, pert breasts that looks just a smidge different than usual. An alarm starts blaring inside his head. He didn't just think that a killer robot from the future has a nice rack, did he? Then again, that's not a big deal, not at all. Of course he has noticed the cyborg's chest, he's a young, healthy man in his teens. He's allowed eyes, isn't he?

As he stares, Cameron suddenly slides her hands along her thighs and toward the waist of her pants, slowly. She then sticks her thumbs under the hem, and when John notices just what it is that she's doing, time begins slowing down to a crawl in his mind. As if they were high speed cameras, his eyes capture every single motion of her delicate fingers as they undo the button of her jeans with precise, measured movements. Then the zipper is slid down. Finally, the cloth slides midway along her thighs, wrinkling and revealing the bounty of soft skin lying underneath with each passing inch. He inhales sharply.

No detail escapes his eyes. John takes note of even how her soft flesh spills just slightly around the hem of her simple panties and on the surface of the swing's seat. When Cameron's hand dips between her legs, partially concealed by the cloth of her underwear, his mind finally gives up and turns to complete mush. All reason is gone, and if he were more aware of his own body, he would notice that his eyes are open so wide that they seem to be bulging out of their sockets as they follow her hand's movements. His throat is again dry as the desert sand, and when he finally swallows the huge lump that has formed in his throat it's not without difficulty.

Cameron's hand moves to a mesmerizing rhythm as it slowly slides up and down the front of her tummy, dipping inside her panties and then reappearing just slightly. Each movement is perfectly followed by John's eyes and by now he's having trouble finding the air that should be right there in his lungs. He's beyond caring about menial things like shallow and labored breathing, though.

After a while, Cameron's hand stops its enticing dance. John can't really tell how much time has passed, but he can't help the pang of disappointment he feels. Because no matter how long it has been, it has been way too short.

Since his gaze is still glued to the cyborg's hand, he can't help but follow as she brings it in front of her face. She wriggles her fingers and studies them for a moment with eyes that could be watching paint dry. There's no curiosity in her face, or any other expression at all, which John notices with some chagrin. It doesn't matter that she can confuse him into kingdom come when she does things like these—touching herself out in the backyard in the middle of the night—at the end of the day she's just a machine. Nothing more, nothing less. There's some reason for what she did, probably something to do with infiltration. Maybe she's learning how to better have sex or something. With other men. For some reason the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Who knows why, it's not like he cares.

When she's done scrutinizing her fingers with the same passion of an ice cube, Cameron stands up without warning and pulls her pants up in a single motion, effectively cutting John's ruminations short. She turns toward the house and starts walking. He panics. It takes him all of five strides to make it up the stairs, and the next second he's already lying on his bed. The mattress is cold and clammy but he definitely doesn't give a rats ass right now.

After half a minute of taking desperate, huge gulps of air, the panic finally starts receding and the questions start flowing. Did she see him? She must have, she has fucking X-Ray vision or something. Like Superman. Maybe. What if she says something about it the next morning? What if she comments it casually in front of his mom and uncle? That would be so like her! How is he supposed to handle something like that? Is he in trouble? Shit!

By the time John finally manages to fall asleep, the sky has already begun turning purple with the first rays of the sun beginning to break through the darkness of night.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning comes, and John is raised by his alarm clock insistently reminding him that today is in fact a school day. Fortunately, he actually slept for some hours before his… _encounter_ with Cameron. Because after that, he barely managed to catch a couple hours of rest. Even so, when he walks down the stairs after getting washed and dressed up, he's dragging his feet and stomping on each step. His eyes are bleary and he feels like he's floating. There's a certain haziness and surreal quality to the world that makes it so he's unable to care about his mom's very stern disapproval of the racket he's supposedly making.

Disregarding all etiquette or consideration for others, John walks into the kitchen and lazily pulls a chair to sit down at the table. Its legs produce the most horrendous screeching as they drag along the floor, making his mom and Derek wince comically. The daggers Sarah is staring into him don't escape his notice, but he's too tired to feel remorseful, so he simply drops languidly on the chair and lets his head fall back. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he just can't stop it from growing into a full-fledged grin. He loves the reactions he gets out of his mother when he makes her fume. If he knows her, and he does, there will be hell to pay when he comes back from school. There's no point in worrying about that right now, though. He will cross that bridge when he gets there.

"I'm hungry." He mutters toward the ceiling.

Surprisingly enough, John hears the noise of a plate being placed in front of him almost immediately. He begins to straighten up—ready to stop acting like a slob—and barely manages to keep from squealing in surprise when he is abruptly met with Cameron's chest hovering just inches away from his face. Now he's very awake, but since talking right now would probably result in some terrible spluttering, he makes the wise choice of remaining silent and staring ahead. A plan that could seem awfully convenient if he were at all enjoying the look of the cyborg's top as it stretches under the weight of her breasts. Which he's definitely not.

Being what can essentially be considered a trained soldier, John's mind immediately fights through the fog of his baser instincts and begins dismantling the situation in a rational way. How big are her breasts? What are they made of? Are they heavy? They seem heavy enough. How would one feel in his hand if he were to squeeze… He manages to chase the thoughts away and mentally slaps his own forehead. What the hell is he doing? It must be the lack of sleep that is making him lose his mind and behave this way, he quickly decides.

Cameron moves away from him, but it isn't until John hears his mom clearing her throat that his ruminations stop. She's directing a questioning gaze at him, and he realizes it's because he must've been just sitting there like an idiot with a vacant look in his eyes a minute ago. He shrinks in his chair and stares intently toward the door, sort of hoping that maybe a Terminator would storm in and save him from embarrassing his self any further. What was he thinking, staring at Cameron like that? That is exactly the problem, isn't it? He obviously wasn't thinking at all. He mentally sighs as he considers that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to come up with a better plan to make his family situation even more awkward.

As nonchalantly as possible, John turns his eyes toward Sarah again and answers her unspoken question with a shrug and a face that says he wasn't doing anything bad. After a moment that to him feels entirely too long, she finally relents and goes back to eating her breakfast. Wanting to avoid any more embarrassing situations, he opts for burying his face in the plate of food before him. It's almost time for school, anyway, and he's quite hungry after all this hassle.

The plate is piled with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, and it smells delicious. Without hesitation, John digs in, and after getting the first taste he can't help stuffing his face with the food. Even though the appearance is not something out of a food commercial—what with the food strewn on the plate just like that—the taste is just what one would expect. He can't help but wonder why Sarah insists on making pancakes so often if she can cook stuff like this. As he swallows each mouthful, John makes sure to vocalize his pleasure in some way or another in an attempt to appease his mother.

He turns to direct a tentative smile at her, and speaks with his mouth still full. "This is good, mom." He says pointing at the plate with his fork.

Predictably enough, Sarah shoots him a death glare. "John Connor. Manners." The small tug at the corners of her lips and the slight crinkling of her eyes don't go unnoticed by him, though. John returns to his plate with a satisfied expression on his face. It might not have been a full smile, but he is making progress. Slowly but surely he will help her mood return to what it was before they met Cameron. After all, it's the least he can do for his mother. What kind of leader or savior would he be if he can't even get his own mom to smile more?

When he's done eating, John leans back on the chair and pats his belly while letting out a happy sigh. He then looks around the table, and for the first time since he started shoveling food into his mouth, he notices that the cyborg is right there with them. She's behind Derek, leaning against the kitchen's counter top, unmoving and completely silent. No matter that the situation is already weird since she almost never joins them—especially if Derek is around—but he also has other reasons for feeling just a tad anxious around her. Personal reasons. Ones that arose last night.

To make matters worse, he also notices that she's staring at him, and has probably been doing it for a while now. Without blinking at all. It unnerves him to no end when she does the falcon gaze thing. Suddenly, he becomes very interested on the design of his plate. He even goes as far as to partially shielding his face with one hand with the excuse of rubbing his forehead. Out of curiosity, he looks furtively through his fingers only to find out that even though some minutes have gone by, she is still staring at him. What a crappy morning this has been. Except for the food, of course.

A few minutes of awkward silence pass like this, with John doing his best to avoid looking at Cameron, until she finally announces that it's time for them to leave for school. Glad for the small reprieve, he stands up stiffly and rushes out of the kitchen with hasty farewells to his mother and uncle. As he grabs his backpack from the living room, John hears Sarah give him her typical safety talk—take care, stay low, remember your exits—and Derek muttering something unintelligible, his mouth obviously stuffed full of food. After acknowledging their parting words with some brief eye contact and a nod, John runs out of the door.

He keeps running for a couple blocks in hopes that Cameron doesn't catch up with him. It's a silly little delusion, of course he knows that she could beat the world record holder of the hundred meter dash, and then carry on at the same speed to beat everyone in a twenty kilometer marathon. Still, he's not ready to look her in the eye, and even less talk about what happened last night—in case she did catch him spying on her—so he clings to the tiny hope that the cyborg won't in fact catch up to him. Alas, she does. In no time at all.

"Why are you running? We're not late." She asks in her perfectly level voice, not at all out of breath after sprinting for two blocks.

John sighs exasperatedly, stops walking and turns sharply toward her. "I was actually hoping to be away from you for a minute." He shakes his head and continues. "I've told you time and again that I hate when you hover."

As he says the words with all the venom he can muster, John notices that even though her face remains expressionless as always, her eyes flicker away from his for just an instant. For a moment, he stares at her in silence, questioning his own eyes. What just happened? What did it mean? Nothing, he answers angrily to himself. He can't keep doing this—hesitating. Killer robots from the future don't waver when told to get lost. End of story. He turns away from those earnest eyes of hers and starts walking again.

"Walk in front of me." John mutters without looking to check if Cameron is there, because he knows she is. A little verbal attack from him has never deterred her, it won't start now. "You know I also hate when you stare holes into the back of my head."

Surely enough she appears in front of him a second later, and his eyes immediately stick to the middle of her back. He can see the clip of her brassiere. Now that he's angry and a bit out of air from the running, his mind actually raises the right questions. Why does she wear such sheer fabrics? Where they don't perfectly stick to the contours of her body, they actually show a glimpse of what is below. Isn't she supposed to be aiming for inconspicuous? He can't imagine guys being able to ignore her that much at all. Or does every girl dress like this?

When he scrutinizes the people around, John notices that there are more kids walking to school and most of them are around his age. He also notices that in fact a lot of the girls wear clothes that look very much like Cameron's. At least to him. Why has he overlooked such an obvious fact? He resolves to be more vigilant right then and there. If his mom finds out how lax he has been, she is going to give him the sermon of a lifetime.

Just to be thorough, John decides to also check if all the girls also wear tight jeans all the time. There are wrinkle marks across the middle of Cameron's thighs, as if her pants had been bunched there for a while. That's as far as his research on female clothing goes. His mind reels at the implication and every other thought is quickly discarded in favor of vivid reminders from last night. The memory of those same pants pulled halfway down her thigh, leaving naked the fair and superbly soft-looking skin, sends a rush of heat through his entire body.

John runs a hand along his forehead to clear the beads of sweat that are beginning to roll down to his brow. Not only is the damn morning sun scorching already but he also jogged for a while, and now this. Then, to top it off, he's becoming angrier with himself by the minute. Almost reflexively, he begins taking deeper breaths and slows his pace a little. If he doesn't calm down a little before getting to school, he has a feeling a tomato will have nothing on the color his face.

Thankfully enough their walk is near its end by the time John begins feeling more at ease. Not wanting to deal with Cameron any more than strictly necessary, he runs ahead of her the moment they cross the school's main gate. Weaving skillfully through the throng of students, he makes his way toward the chemistry classroom, relieved with the comforting knowledge that the cyborg hasn't managed to get into every single one of his classes. Yet. In any case, at least for now he doesn't have to see her every freaking minute of every day.

Classes end early for John since one teacher called in sick, and he doesn't wait a second to escape into the schoolyard, eager to spend some quality time on his own. Away from the classroom and away from Cameron. He makes plans to buy a soda from the cafeteria and to drink it under the nice, cool shade of a tree. Then, just as many other plans of his, it goes up in smoke. As he walks into the cafeteria, he sees the cyborg hanging out with some dude at one of the tables. She's all smiles and being touchy feely with the guy.

Naturally, his first reaction is to turn around and hide around the corner to spy on them. Immediately realizing what he has done, John bangs his head against the wall, wondering once more just what the hell is going on with him today. Is he panicking around her just because of what he saw her do last night? Yeah, that must be it, he has never been like this before today.

With the damage already done, John decides to take the chance to eavesdrop on Cameron. Make your bed and lie on it, as the saying goes. Besides, he never imagined that the cyborg would actually behave like a normal person when being away from him. It makes him curious, since around him she's always so freaking stiff and creepy.

Cameron laughs at something the dude says while touching her arm, and then she reciprocates the touch. It's just plain unsettling to see a Terminator behave so casually, so naturally around a human. For some reason it makes John a little sick in the stomach. He knows what she is, and at least thinks he knows how the machine mind works. But does he? Now he's not so sure.

The whole scene playing before his eyes reminds John of the day he and Cameron met for the first time. She managed not only to fool him with her human act, but—though this is something he would never admit to his mother or uncle—also to ensnare him, if only for that one day. When they talked in that New Mexico school, he had been instantly captivated by the mix of both confidence and cute awkwardness displayed in her every gesture and word. Not to mention the long hair that went down her back in flowing curls and her big brown eyes that seemed so honest, so earnest. Back then, he saw himself dating this girl, and not only to feel like he had a normal life. He craved that outcome with every fiber of his body. Then it all went to hell.

Back in the present, things are somehow still managing to take a turn for the worse. When the guy leans closer to Cameron and tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear—and she allows it just like that—John is out of his hiding spot and walking toward them before he can even think about what he's doing. His mind is reeling with doubts. Does she really not behave like this around him because there's no need, or is there some other reason? Is it better to have her honesty, or would it be better to live in ignorant bliss? There's a reason why the saying was invented in the first place. And more importantly, is this asshole why she was touching herself last night? At the last thought, John's face becomes flushed, his eyes widen and his jaw tightens, all without him being none the wiser.

"Hey, sis." He calls in the most pleasant tone he can muster while plastering a smile on his face. Never before has a smile felt so forced.

Once Cameron's eyes are on him, they immediately harden and grow colder. Her smile evaporates, too. Learning that any time he is close she reverts back to creepy robot without a second's hesitation makes John feel something in the bottom of his stomach. It doesn't matter right now, though. He angrily pushes the thought to the back of his mind and grabs her hand.

"We need to go." John says. No pleasant tone, no smile. He gives the guy a nod of acknowledgment at the same time he pulls Cameron up.

She allows him—he's aware of that fact—and she doesn't protest or actually hesitate for long, but his temper is in flames. He has no patience to spare for even the blink of an eye, and makes it clear by pulling violently on her hand and repeating his words in a venomous tone for good measure.

John drags Cameron out of the cafeteria, through the hallways, and then across the entire schoolyard paying no heed to the looks they get or the fact that his fake sister may still need to retrieve her books. They begin walking home in the same fashion.

At first, she tries to question him to find out if something has happened back at the safe house. After that fails, she simply inquires about his behavior. Finally, she gives up. By the time they arrive home, John isn't so much angry as he is tired, but still, he is in no mood to talk. Especially not to Cameron, so he pushes her through the front door without a word. For some reason, he can't help feeling like he has dragged in a misbehaving pet that needs to be locked up. Does that make him an asshole since she's not a domesticated animal? Right now he just doesn't feel like caring.

He bounds up the stairs and into his room, leaving the cyborg standing there in the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

John watches Cameron while she's leaning on the protective rail of the cruise's deck. She's staring at the horizon, the wind blowing her brown locks in every which way, and as it whips past it also makes the skirt of her summer dress climb up just enough to reveal her calves. It's a very nice view.

For a moment, he imagines that she's mesmerized by the sight of the ocean in front of them. Endless miles of blue water extending until they meet the sky. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but right then he remembers what she is and the smile is gone before it even manifested.

"Cameron." He calls at her without bothering to raise his voice, knowing that she can hear him well enough in spite of the wind.

As she turns her head toward him, her long, elegant fingers slowly pull the wilder tresses away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. Her brown eyes meet his directly, piercing and captivating in both their inexpressiveness and depth. Even with a tousled head she is a thing of beauty… A thing indeed.

"Kiss me." John commands.

Without the slightest vacillation, her arms go around his neck and her lips meet his.

"Deeper." He demands urgently between shallow breaths.

Cameron complies immediately, and in response one of his hands travels from her waist to her chest, capturing a soft mound and squeezing without kindness. He knows she doesn't mind. Neither about the roughness nor the public display.

After a couple minutes, he finally ends the kiss and takes a step back, studying her face as he does. There's a telling rosiness coloring her cheeks, her lips look a tad redder than usual and their characteristic pout is more pronounced. Her eyes remain as cold as ever, though. Something wells up in his chest at the sight.

"Take your dress off." His tone leaves no room for doubt that this is an order.

A few seconds pass without any reaction from Cameron. Then, her gaze falters. She turns those pretty almond shaped eyes in the general direction of the other tourists hanging out on the deck and then back at him. As if she's hesitating and feels embarrassed. As if she could feel anything at all. John knows she can't, and because of that, he just finds the gesture strange. It's something out of place on her face.

Cameron holds his gaze for a few seconds more, and then her hands move behind her back. In a single, precise motion, she pulls the zipper down. The piece of clothing slides easily down her delicate frame and pools around her feet, leaving her seemingly fragile body exposed but for the simple white underwear she is wearing.

He devours the contours of her body—every single curve, swell and recess—with eyes full of lust. However, he is in fact more fascinated by her unfailing compliance. It is as it should be. She is his forever. An empty doll whose entire existence revolves around him, there to obey his every whim and submit to his every fleeting urge, nothing more and nothing less. He resents her for it.

"Take everything off." He orders.

There's no response whatsoever. For the longest time, Cameron just stands perfectly still, staring at him with expressionless eyes. Though devoid of emotion, her face does a great job of conveying beauty, those wide and guileless eyes further enhancing that effect. It's undeniable that she was built to be attractive, captivating even, but he knows better than to fall for the deception. Thus, he stares right back at her, impassively waiting for her to do as she was told. Then, she blinks—something she almost never does—and a single tear rolls down her cheek…

John wakes up with a start and shoots up to a sitting position, gasping desperately for a breath of air that his lungs simply can't find. His eyes scan wildly around the room, unable to recognize the walls that surround him, and for a moment panic begins to creep into his confused mind.

It takes a couple minutes before his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, and with that, recognition begins gradually setting in. He is in his bedroom, lying on the bed, and the damn thing is damp with his own sweat all over again. That's going to suck when he tries going back to sleep.

With the initial fear now past him, the rhythm of his heart slows down to a less frantic pace, and he starts breathing with more ease. However, there's no way he can go back to sleep right now, not with his mind still on edge after the adrenaline rush he just had. So, he slides to the edge of the bed to sit more comfortably and runs both hands through his hair in an attempt to dispel the uneasiness. Since his throat feels quite dry, John considers going downstairs for a glass of water, but he quickly discards that idea. In light of what happened the night before, he's not going to risk another such encounter with their resident Terminator. Maybe he can just sit here and wait until he's tired enough to sleep again. Not the best of plans but he has little to work with right now.

After some minutes of the most mind numbing boredom he has ever gone through, John stands up and begins pacing around the room. For whatever reason sleep eludes him so completely that he doesn't feel tired in the slightest, and now he's becoming restless. It's a good thing that the weekend has already begun and there are no more classes, or he would be royally screwed.

When he walks near the door to his room for what is probably the tenth time, John finally notices that there's a faint humming coming from the hallway. Since he's bored out of his mind, he decides to indulge his curiosity and puts an ear against the door. There's nothing now. Perhaps he just imagined it. Is there a chance he's losing it after just two nights of bad sleep?

He begins slowly moving away from the door, and then he hears it again. The sound is so faint that even as he listens to it, John is not entirely sure he's not just hearing things. Pressing his ear against the door as much as it allows, he holds his breath and closes his eyes, focusing intently on the one sound. No, he's definitely not going crazy, there's someone humming a song out there. Also, if the peculiar reverberations he thinks he can hear are actually there, that someone is in the bathroom.

As he pushes the door to open a crack just big enough to peek, John can already imagine who it is that he's going to see across the hallway. It's going to be her, the killer robot from the future that has no business being in a bathroom and even less humming a song. He dreads the idea and finds it amusingly ridiculous at the same time. Maybe the one that's going nuts is Cameron.

So focused is John on the stupidity of the notion of a Terminator humming in the bathroom, that he's very much shocked by what he actually sees. It's worse. A lot worse.

She's inside the tub. Naked. Which is completely natural, because why would someone be dressed inside a bathtub? The problem is that she has no business being there in the first place. Does she? Isn't she covered by some… thing that's dirt proof? John doesn't remember ever seeing her getting cleaned, so he simply assumed she didn't need to. Then again, if she has always done it at this hour of the night, it's no surprise that he missed it completely. He wasn't always an insomniac. Not until this awful Californian summer. Not until he saw her out in the backyard doing… things she shouldn't be doing.

While his mind reels trying to remain rational, his eyes remain glued to the image before them, eager to absorb every detail and coloring his thoughts with images of her partially visible breasts. John knows he shouldn't be staring at her like this, and also that he sure as hell shouldn't be feeling the way he does. Cameron is not human. What's more, she's the enemy. So, if that's the case, then why is he so enticed by the prospect of seeing her fully naked? Why does it arouse him so much? And more importantly, why does it feel so natural? The conflict eats at him, and John contemplates for a second that he should hate himself for acting like this. If only he could remember to breathe. If only he could stop enjoying the warmth pervading his body. If only the hormones stopped swamping his brain, making him so damn happy about this whole situation.

Little by little, his mind manages to adjust minutely to the erogenous onslaught, and when Cameron makes a sudden movement, John finally breaks out of his trance. He begins noticing the details that have been escaping him. When compared to the night before, there are differences in the way she's carrying herself tonight. Making these observations is something his mother kept constantly drilling into his head after their fight against the liquid metal Terminator. Noticing the changes in the behavior of a person could save your life. Before that encounter, he would have never imagined that a person could be human one moment and then be replaced by a killing machine the next.

At first, John notices something that should have been immediately obvious. Cameron is relaxed. Or at least has that appearance since she's not sitting ramrod straight as she usually does. Her head is leaning back against the edge of the tub, one leg propped on the opposite side, and the other bent at the knee, partially submerged in the water. She's happily humming some melody that he has never heard before, a tiny smile playing on her lips. Meanwhile, she uses one hand to scoop water from the tub, and then moves it along her other arm, letting it drip slowly on her skin. It all seems so lazy and playful, so unlike her.

John does remember her mentioning something about having sensation, and as it turns out, it may not be just some practical thing like he presumed at first. Maybe she wasn't lying when she said she was feeling the wind in her fingers. Because here she is right now, playing with water for no apparent reason.

After a little while, Cameron stops playing with the water, and one of her hands disappears under the surface. It's not the fact that her hand doesn't come up to the surface again, nor the movements of her shoulder that reveal to John what's happening. Nothing so crude. Actually, he would be more surprised if it weren't because he's once again enthralled by what he's seeing. Her face is not the mask calmness it was the night before. An almost red blush colors her cheeks, which combined with the moisture of her skin makes her face look impossibly radiant.

Unlike yesterday, Cameron is not staring clinically at the horizon without blinking a single time. No, today she's looking down through heavy lidded eyes at what she's doing to herself. Gone is the detached, cold gaze, replaced by the smoldering focus of arousal. John can't help the sudden surge in excitement that comes over him when he sees her like this, and he's not even done listing the changes.

The sultry look of her face is completed by the small movements of her cherry colored lips. They part ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of her perfect, yet childish looking teeth. A detail that John has always found endearing about her. She closes her mouth only to open it again, the soft flesh of her lips stretching and contracting under smooth, inviting skin. He has craved those lips that look like rose petals before, wanting them smashed upon his, but never like this. This is wrong. His mother and uncle would throw a fit of biblical proportions if they were to find out. He can't bring himself to stop, though. It's as if Cameron is whispering her pleasure to the wind, and the only thing he can do right now is endeavor not to miss a single utterance.

At some point, her lips become a line—pressed together so firmly they turn white—and her eyes shut tightly, crinkling at the corners. Then, she suddenly lurches forward and curls into herself, trembling. Her face gets buried between both knees, and the juvenile, innocent features that John has grown accustomed to are now contorted with sensual pleasure. He is keenly aware of every shudder that courses through her body, her muscles noticeably taut under the downy, fair skin. She trembles once, twice, three times, and then her entire body relaxes, the aftershock of her climax finally waning. Even her mouth goes slack, and her slightly parted lips allow a tiny, glistening drop of saliva to escape into the water below. It leaves an almost imperceptible line in its wake, connecting the water to her lips for a few seconds before disappearing. Her heavy breathing continues for a little while longer. It's beautiful.

John remains frozen at the threshold of the door to his room. This is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and he has actually seen females having orgasms before. The laptop on his desk contains several of said occurrences, recorded in video for posterity and the eventual relief of hormonal teenagers like himself. Nothing like this, though. Everything inside his computer's hard drive pales in comparison to the real deal, and then becomes a faint shadow when compared to seeing Cameron do it. She looks simply stunning, just by being there seated in the bathtub and nothing else, her skin flushed and glistening with the aftermath of her exertion. Gorgeous. And so… alive…

Fear strikes John like lightning. Instantaneous, lethal. All the excitement vaporizes instantly and gets replaced by a growing coldness in the bottom of his stomach. He turns away from the door and practically jumps into the bed. It's not easy to force his breathing into a steady rhythm this quickly, but he makes a vehement attempt anyway. There's only one thing he can do right now to forget this whole deal, and that is to chase after his lost sleep. To recover that soothing peace so he can be away from what he knows to be a monster that is most certainly not alive. Never alive. He repeats it to himself over and over again, like a mantra. Never alive…


	4. Chapter 4

When John wakes up the next day, it's to find himself in abject discomfort. The sheets are plastered to the skin of his back with his own sweat, and his head feels like it was put in a lead cast. He grunts and grumbles while rubbing his face with both hands trying to get some of the grogginess to go away. It doesn't help that much.

His body still feels tired, so for a while he just rolls all over the bed trying to find a comfortable position so he can go back to sleep. Every time he starts to slip into unconsciousness the damn heat makes him all uncomfortable again. Soon enough he has run out of postures and cool spots on the mattress in which to lie down.

It isn't until John sees the clock on the bedside table that he realizes why his room is hot enough to bake bread. Shock quickly replaces his mounting exasperation when he sees it's already past noon. His mom would've never allowed him to oversleep like this, which means something's going on. Prompted by worry, he jumps out of bed and slides into a pair of dirty jeans to make himself somewhat presentable before going downstairs.

The smell of freshly cooked pancakes wafts into his nose as he hastily bounds down the stairs. Barely has he begun to consider the disappointment of going from eggs and bacon back to pancakes—which are quite dull in comparison—when he discovers that what's happening is much worse. It's not his mom who's working in the kitchen, but Cameron, and she's barely wearing any clothes.

She's humming some unknown song again, just like she was doing last night in the tub. It's a good thing that she has her back turned to him because John can't help staring. The tiny blue shorts she's wearing make it look like her legs are a mile long. Or maybe it's the fact that the fabric barely serves to cover her ass that's making him imagine things. Either way it's not like the shorts are the only problem. She's also wearing an old sleeveless undershirt that's so transparent he can tell with absolute certainty that she's not wearing a bra underneath.

John is almost sure that she's dressed like that just to mess with his head. After all, she has done this before. He remembers that night when she tried to manipulate him into not seeing Riley anymore. The memory of Cameron walking into his room wearing that ridiculously short denim miniskirt is something he recalls rather fondly, even though he still ran away afterward. Having her close to him like that, feeling her warmth and softness right beside him while they lay crammed on the tiny bed made him not want to go with the blonde. He nearly fell into the trap. Nearly got caught in the fake allure of a cyborg. Luckily enough, he had seen through the deception in time. He felt so pissed off at the Terminator for turning her lies on him that he ran away more to spite her than to be with his girlfriend. Not one of his best moments.

Anger and indignation, that's how he managed to escape whatever web of intrigue Cameron had been weaving back then, and right now he's feeling pretty much the same. How dare she pull this crap on him after all they've been through?

"What are you doing?" John questions, his tone dripping with venom.

"Cooking pancakes for lunch." Even though there's no inflection to her voice, Cameron somehow sounds like she's mocking him for asking something stupidly obvious. Then again, maybe he's just projecting his feelings unto her. In any case, he can see how it's his own damn fault for not being more specific.

"I mean, why the hell are you dressed like that?" He gestures exasperatedly with his hands to indicate her whole body, even though she's not looking at him.

She just goes on cooking, her hands working with the utmost precision to pour batter into the pan and then to flip the stuff without a spatula. It's almost hypnotic. "This is the kind of clothing females wear when they want to be comfortable around the house," she declares suddenly after pouring more batter.

John runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Mom and Derek are going to blow a gasket if they see you."

"They're not here."

That reminds him about sleeping late without any nagging happening as consequence. "Where are they?"

"Burying a weapons cache near Avila Beach."

That's just dandy. It's exactly what he needs right now, to be stuck alone with Cameron for a whole day when all he wants is to be away from her. And there's no other way to put it, no way to mask it, he's literally caged inside the house with her. Without anyone else around there's no way she's going to let him out of her sight and he isn't ready to be around her for so long.

"It's ready," Cameron announces, bringing his mental grieving to an abrupt end.

When she turns around, her eyes find his immediately and John looks away, unable to hold her gaze for even a second. Since he can't very well give her anything that could lead to any conversation, he opts to disguise his own gaze by looking somewhere else in her face. Considering the circumstances any talk they have right now has the potential to grow very awkward really fast.

As it turns out, looking down from her eyes is not such a good idea. He finds her lips and images from last night come uninvited into his head. The pink, soft, bow shaped skin beckons him, and an itch begins growing in his lips. Below her face gets even worse. There's no way on earth for him not to notice her nipples poking through the threadbare fabric. She's wearing that shirt on purpose, he just knows it. If he goes any lower, John knows he's going to find the tiny shorts, and then her uncovered thighs. Cameron may look like she barely has any meat on her bones, but her legs are shapely and toned and surreally long. He just can't look anywhere! This isn't happening, he's still dreaming and this is another of his nightmares or something.

John realizes he can't let her do this to him. Get under his skin like this. Not her. He's John Connor and she's a machine, she's the enemy. A precedent has to be set, right? So, he turns around and begins walking back toward the stairs.

"Aren't you going to eat?" the cyborg calls after him.

"I'm not hungry," he replies coldly. It takes him real effort to keep the pity out of his voice, to act indifferent and ignore the fact that he's leaving her standing in the kitchen with a plate full of pancakes in her hands. They're meant for him and smell so good. She looked so lonely, but it doesn't matter. It mustn't matter.

After walking into his room, John slams the door shut to make a point. What point he's trying to make, he doesn't know, but it must be emphasized whatever it is. That's important. In hindsight, it was stupid and he probably shouldn't have done it. On the other hand, why not? It's Cameron's fault for driving him up the walls. She needs to learn her lesson, even if he hasn't told her what that is. It's not like she's stupid, is she? Maybe he's being too hard on her, and that's probably her fault too, somehow. It's a good thing that he can place the blame of all this crap on her.

Half an hour passes while John tries to go back to sleep, but his head is like a storm in high seas, the ideas getting tossed around like tiny boats in the chaos of the waves. Another half hour slips away and he isn't any closer to calming down or figuring out what's going on inside his own head, and even further away from making any sense of Cameron.

By the time he finally begins falling asleep the clock has lost all meaning. It's so silent in his room that he can hear the mechanism work, one excruciatingly slow tic after the other. He doesn't care anymore if another hour or two has gone by, all he cares about is sleeping until his mother and uncle are back home. Then he will be able to get away from the cyborg and not have to deal with any of this emotional mess.

At least that's the plan, but only until he gets interrupted by a soft whimper that comes from somewhere downstairs. He gets up, startled, thinking that his mom might have returned wounded. Out of caution, John carefully opens the door and then tiptoes out of his room and along the hallway. As he slowly comes closer and closer to the staircase, he gradually discovers that what he thought might be a pained sound is something completely different.

He soon makes out the different noises coming from what he now knows to be the living room. There's the most exquisite mewling weaved in between heavy breaths. John knows this sound, he has heard something similar in his computer. He can tell without a doubt that Cameron is going at it again.

One of her mewls of pleasure suddenly grows louder until it becomes a full-fledged moan, and it startles John into becoming frozen in place. Memories of their previous encounters begin relentlessly assaulting his mind, firing up his brain into a hormone induced overdrive, and without wasting any time, his imagination sets out to create imagery for the sounds he's hearing. He can picture Cameron perfectly, her sweat covered body squirming under her own touch, moaning and whimpering each time the sensation becomes too much to bear. Heavy breathing makes her chest heave, occasionally exposing the glistening skin of her pert breasts, which he just knows must look perfect and delicious. As he visualizes how the heat of her body must feel like on his own, he notices that he's also beginning to perspire and his breath is becoming labored. The image of one of her hands covered in a sheen of fluid comes into his, and somehow he knows that liquid is not sweat. He can almost smell that exclusively female scent. Correction, he can actually smell it.

That's enough to push John over the limit without even touching himself a single time, at least not directly. His mind and the pressure of his jeans have done the work for him. All the lack of sleep, the stress, the bottled anger, and the sexual tension wash away, dragging his body like a flood. He leans against the wall, feeling so utterly spent that he doesn't react until he hears Cameron reach her own climax. She has to know he can hear her. Unless she thinks he sleeps like a rock. Unable to care about solving these mysteries for now, or actually think straight at all, he lazily drags himself back to his room. His body plops on the bed of its own accord and the darkness embraces him immediately.

Who knows how many hours later he finally wakes up. After stretching, John realizes this is the most relaxed he has felt in weeks. Not only that, but he also feels quite re-energized and content, maybe even happy. It's like a huge load has been taken off him. He feels like he could take on the entire world right now. Of course, first things first, he needs to get the mess in his pants and underwear cleaned up. Then, he's going to have an open and serious talk with Cameron. Not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination, but right now he does feel more confident about dealing with it.

When John turns his face toward the bedside table to check the clock, he finds it covered by a small paper envelope leaning against it. His eyebrows furrow reflexively as he grabs the thing like it's something dangerous. Stranger things have been happening these days, but this is still weird enough to put a damper on his high spirits. He opens the envelope slowly, finding a card inside it, which he carefully pulls out. There are a couple lines inscribed on it in a very neat handwriting.

"Tonight at 0100 in the toolshed. XOXO."

The missing pieces of the puzzle fall on his lap in bulk. All of a sudden it seems so obvious that everything leading to this moment has been carefully planned and executed during the course of the last few days. There was nothing random about each time he saw Cameron going at herself. John had always wanted for her to be more than she was. Stubbornly so. It was some sort of failsafe inside his head. If the killer robot from the future could grow beyond her limitations, then it would be alright for him to care about her. And that's exactly what she has been doing: Endeavoring to transcend.

Now that he has the knowledge of what's going on, John feels so stupid for not noticing the rather simple pattern. Each new time he supposedly caught Cameron in the midst of the action, she had already built upon the previous occasion. Day after day she improved upon her actions and made small adjustments until her performance became indistinguishable from the real deal. So much that his feelings finally overflowed in what he wanted to believe was a natural way. He's still a bit conflicted, though. After years and years of having a certain bias ingrained into his mind, it's no wonder that he raised barriers against these kinds of things. Stuff like harboring feelings for a machine whose purpose is to annihilate the human race.

Conflict or not, he isn't going to miss tonight's date for anything in the world. Screw sleep. Who needs rest when you have someone like Cameron at your side? A worrying thought sends alarms blaring inside his head. He's falling in love with the enemy, and has been for a while. Oh, he knows he's doomed, but that's okay with him, he can see past that particular issue now.

Out of curiosity, John turns the card around. There's a red lipstick kiss stamped on it, and John can tell without a sliver of doubt that it's in the shape of Cameron's lips. Their image is burned in the back of his eyes, how could he not recognize them? The sheer corniness of the gesture makes him chuckle, but he's not really surprised, not after seeing what she's capable of.

That night, while the human members of the family are sitting around the table eating supper, she winks and then gives him a coquettish little smile when no one is looking. How can something so dangerous be so suggestive? John decides right then not to question her actions or motivations anymore. There's no doubt in his mind that everything Cameron does is for him in one way or another. He's going to make it up to her from now on, just the way it should be.

**FIN**


End file.
